Orpheus Rising
by everybetty
Summary: Rodney and the team work to bring John home, then fight to bring him out of the darkness. Set post S5.


Written as part of the Sheppard HC Secret Santa exchange over at LJ.

* * *

Whether we ever wanted to admit or not, I think we all thought we were a little… not better… maybe cooler? than the SG1ers. Yeah, maybe they were first, going through the gate, fighting aliens, bringing some of them home… but they never got to leave their own galaxy. All their fighting and friending was done in our veritable backyard. Now Pegasus? That was like Marco Polo in China. James Cook, sailing to the farthest corners of the globe. And we went there. Lived there, for five years.

So being back in the Milky Way seemed a bit of a back step. When you've taken on Wraith in superhives, and won, and destroyed a whole planet of Replicators… you get to thinking that anything you'd find in your backyard would be rather tame.

Being forced to spend all this time back on Earth, with her bureaucracy and politics and Starbucks and Mickie D's on every corner… well, it wasn't all that surprising that Sheppard would find it all more than a little boring. Confining. Stultifying, I think, sums it up best.

Ronon had been the first of us to head out. I think he lasted a whole week before Landry had tired of seeing damage reports for the walls in the facility and the injury reports from the gym. Conan's normally glowery face actually brightened for a split second when the General threw him onto an SG team and sent him out to burn off some of his frustration.

Teyla went out next. She was sent out on missions with planets we'd already made contact with, to use her diplomatic skills and weave a little of her special Teyla magic with some of our grumpier neighbors. But she'd gone with her gun strapped on and there was little doubt she sometimes itched to use it. She may have been born a farmer's daughter but she'd grown into our own little Xena, warrior princess.

Me? I never went out. No need. I had my lab and all the minions and coffee they could bring me. It was quiet, just the way I liked it. No daily threats of impending doom. The most danger I faced was my morning commute through Colorado Springs, dodging all those crazy bicyclers giving me dirty looks, even though I drive a Prius.

It actually took Sheppard six months before he finally succumbed to the daily grind. He'd spent so much time, tilting at windmills, fighting to get Atlantis moved back to Pegasus. It'd been one meeting too many. He stormed out during a lunch break in what felt like the hundredth session with the IOA and never come back. I'd been in that meeting, had seen the stony faces that stared back at him as he'd listed, again, the myriad reasons why we needed to go back. I can't say I blamed him; Sisyphus had a cake job compared to the uphill battle John Sheppard fought.

So he'd talked to Landry. The old man had probably been just as happy to toss him out with Ronon. Sheppard's face had been just about as glowery and his constant running through the halls at all hours had raised a few complaints. Okay, maybe some of them were mine, but it got really annoying.

The three of them made their own little SG team. SG-13. Go figure. They'd mucked about the Milky Way, starting with some of the planets the gate teams had already explored, just to get their feet wet. They regaled me with stories of their little adventures over the occasional dinner in the mess; they told the tales big but there wasn't the same spark. I told myself that I was the smart one, staying behind. I could read about many of the same things they saw in any of the hundreds of records on file, not that I would ever have the time or really want to. I'd brought some toys out of Atlantis before they mothballed the old gal and Carter and Lee had some Goa'uld and Asgard tech that kept me busy. Visions of what could be done if I could fuse all three together kept me company while I worked and sometimes even chased the Wraith and whales out of my dreams at night. And of course, there was that new something I was trying to develop with Jennifer, awkward as it sometimes was.

We all settled in to what passed for normalcy for us. Life was… well, if it wasn't good, it was enough.

And then, as it always seems to do, life took an abrupt turn into the shitter, colloquially speaking. So much for the safety of our own backyard.

SG-13 was checking out MJ2-YD3, a planet at a developmental stage somewhere between steam engines and nuclear fission. Several hours after missing their last radio check-in Teyla and Ronon staggered through the gate with a single Marine and two freaked out geeks, all of them bleeding from one wound or another. Sheppard, another Marine and a geologist had been taken captive.

A coup or something, I never really did get all the details straight. SG13, along with a minister or prefect or whatever they called them on that backwater planet, had been taken hostage by the Rebel Alliance or whatever the hell they called themselves. Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon did what they do best; shoot guns and sacrifice themselves for others. Half the team managed to escape, barely. By the time they'd managed to wrestle some stitches and bandages onto Teyla and Ronon and they'd headed back out, the rebels were gone along with the captives.

We went back to the planet, scanned and scanned, then we scanned some more. The whole reason the stupid geologist was there in the first place was to investigate some stupid ore that covered the stupid planet. And it looked like that stupid ore was affecting transmissions.

Search parties scoured the planet but their technology turned out to be a bit more advanced than steam engines. They'd disappeared down the proverbial rabbit hole and all our hunting parties came up empty.

We never really gave up hope. I mean, this was Sheppard we're talking about. I'd thought too many goodbyes to the man, only to have him pop up on the radio with a smug one-liner. But then days turned into weeks. When the weeks turned into a month, none of us noted the anniversary out loud…

Of course, with Sheppard, it had to be all about the timing.

* * *

As I was suiting up for the day's search efforts I got a call from Landry. Not a particularly rare thing but with all of us on edge… okay, me, on edge, I couldn't help but feel that oh, so familiar twinge of foreboding.

I tried to maintain a little civility, talking to the man, because he was Sheppard's commanding officer and he wasn't always a complete asshole. "Kinda busy here, General. Can it wait?" Hey, I _asked._

"No, Dr. McKay, I don't think it can," came Landry's reply. I tensed at how somber and serious his voice was.

"Did you – was there- did you hear something?"

"Just get your ass in my office, doctor." And he hung up. So much for his attempt at civility with me.

By the time I got there Ronon, Teyla and Lorne were already there, ready to go in their off world gear.

Landry had called us all in to his office, told us the SGC was preparing to have them all listed as Missing, Presumed Dead. Paperwork and all that. Relatives to be contacted, affairs to be put in order. Bureaucracy at its finest.

We stood staring at the three sets of documents ready to be filed in triplicate.

"This doesn't mean we stop looking," Landry said.

"Damn straight, it doesn't," Ronon growled, his massive arms crossed so tightly I wondered how he could breathe.

I caught Lorne glancing away, his eyes downcast. "What?"

He looked up at me and shook his head. Did that meaningful look back and forth with Landry that drove me nuts. "What?" I demanded again. "The looks – what?"

Lorne blew out a long breath. "It means we can keep looking but our resources will be seriously curtailed."

"Curtailed? Is that military speak? What resources?"

"Manpower, for one," Lorne replied. "Personnel will be redirected."

"God, I _hate_ how you people talk. Who _will _be left to keep up the search?"

Lorne gave another one of those looks at his boss then at the two others in the room. "SGC has no control over Teyla and Ronon."

Teyla's head bowed as she fumed. "Ronon and I are not enough. Cannot this paperwork be held off, General?"

Landry shook his head. "Afraid not, Teyla. Look, whether we like it or not, the SGC program can't grind to a halt over these three men. We've scoured that planet from pole to pole; we can't waste-"

"Waste?" I managed to choke out.

"We can't _expend_ any more man hours or resources. We're maintaining diplomatic contact with the planet's leaders and I've been assured they are continuing their efforts. They lost a man, too, remember."

"Are you kidding me?" I spluttered. "You want to leave their lives in the hands of strangers? And barely advanced ones at that? No. No way."

"Look, I understand your frustration, Dr McKay-"

"No! No, you don't. I can't believe we're even having this discussion. Sheppard would _never_ leave anyone behind like this."

Lorne looked at me with the most devastated expression. I wheeled on him. "You! Your whole team was presumed dead! We had _bodies_ in our morgue, but we never stopped looking."

Sheppard's sidekick looked like a kicked puppy, and it didn't even make me feel better.

"I remember, Dr. McKay," he said softly. He dashed another resentful glance at Landry then stiffened. "I have my orders."

"Disobey them. Sheppard would."

The room got really quiet. Ronon was boring holes through Landry's head and I almost expected his blaster to come out, fully charged.

The general was stone-faced; I knew that expression, had worn it myself on more than one occasion. He wasn't budging.

"Fine," I muttered. "I'm going back to trying to recalibrate the scanners. I'm working on a program to compensate for the interference."

"You have more pressing work, Dr. McKay," Landry said, shaking his head.

"No, I don't," I shot back. I saw Landry's mouth open and I knew what was coming. "I quit."

"Dr. McKay—"

I could feel the heat in my face and that damned neck spasm I get when I'm all worked up. "I quit. SGC has no more say in what M Rodney McKay PhD PhD does anymore."

"Rodney-"

"No, Teyla. I won't work for an organization that—" My speech was cut off by the sound of Landry's phone ringing. The general picked up the receiver, listened briefly, then dropped it back onto the cradle with a stunned expression.

"What now?" I groaned.

The general's bushy eyebrows rose as he pinned me with a steely gaze. "That was Walter. The team on the planet picked up Colonel Sheppard's sub-q transmitter a few moments ago."

The group of us all started talking at once and Landry raised a hand. "Before Walter could even alert anyone, MJ2-YD3 contacted us directly. They have Sheppard… they're sending him home."

Have as in …. I didn't want to ask. I swallowed hard. "Is he…?"

Landry gave me a grim smile. "He's alive."

* * *

Alive was a bit of an overstatement. What came through the gate was barely recognizable as a human being.

Two goons in silly burgundy robes – seriously? None of these planets ever developed tee shirts and jeans?- followed behind a nebbishy man in an even sillier gold robe. They held between them a stretcher. They said it was Sheppard under the blanket. All I could see was some skin the pale white of a cave dweller, bruises, bandages and hair. The hair was what finally made me realize it really was him. Longer, matted and melding into a mountain man beard, it was still identifiable as Sheppard's porcupine with hair gel do.

A medical team swarmed in from behind us after our goons gave the all clear, picked up the litter and whisked it away before we could even see if he was awake.

Gold Robe held something in his hands. After sizing us up he glanced between Ronon and Landry, trying to figure out which was the leader. The general finally cleared his throat and Gold Robe flashed a sickly smile, gave him a kind of head bob and solemnly handed the package over. Landry grimaced and held it away from him, wrinkling his nose like he'd been handed a dirty diaper. Then his face fell. I swear, the old grump's stone face actually crumpled a little. He lifted a piece of fabric; it made a hollow clinking sound. It was a tattered, dirty piece of black cloth; as it fell open we could see it was all that was left of Sheppard's tee shirt. His dog tags were tangled up with it.

"I can only offer the sincerest of apologies for the manner in which your man was treated," Gold Robe said, with another head bob.

"Man?" Landry barked. "We had _men_ on that planet. Where are the other two?"

After another quaking head bob – looked like the little man was plagued with my neck spasm- Gold Robe stammered out, "The exchange was meant for all of your people, and ours. But we were too late. The other of your people did not survive. They were consigned to the lye pits. Your Colonel Sheppard will verify that for you… should he survive. But he did ask us to bring these icons to you." From a pocket he pulled out another set of dog tags and an SGC jacket patch from the geologist, Dr Bennett.

Lorne reached out and took them. Just stared at them in his hands before shoving them into his own pocket. "Where are these lye pits?"

Gold Robe's eyes widened. "Why would you want to go there?"

Lorne looked at me, shame in his eyes. "Because we don't leave people behind."

* * *

So Sheppard was back, on the very day he was to be declared dead. See what I mean about the man's timing? By the time we got read the butcher's bill of Sheppard's condition I think some were readying to get the paperwork back out.

He'd been shot during the initial gunfight. The barbarians on the planet had darned him up like an old sock and the wound in his shoulder, even after all this time, still wasn't healed and needed to be fixed. Broken fingers and toes, a hairline fracture in his ankle, broken ribs and internal injuries that had required surgery of their own. He'd almost lost a kidney and there was no guarantee yet he'd keep it.

And during his stay at their version of the Hanoi Hilton, food beyond bread and water was apparently not on the menu. Sheppard already had the body fat of an Olsen twin and a month on his impromptu crash diet did him no favors.

On top of all that, a respiratory infection. Of course. Because the man never does anything halfway.

He was back four days before he regained consciousness. I was the lucky one to be there when it happened.

When his eyes first fluttered open it barely even registered. They'd done that bunches of times while he'd been out, but they always shut back down, not to open again for hours. After they stayed open for more than a brief second I put my laptop down. My hand hovered over the radio at my ear. The staff had already yelled me at repeatedly for my false alarm calls.

Then they really opened. Like wide. Freaked out.

"Hey, Sheppard. It's me, your old pal Rodney."

He didn't respond to me. Vocally. But his eyes spoke volumes. They spun madly as he tried to take in every inch of the white-walled cubicle.

One hand, three fingers in padded aluminum braces, started clawing at the sheet covering him. I grabbed his hand, instinctively, even though he was a petri dish of various infections. It was hot. Hotter than human flesh should ever be.

Those pinwheeling orbs immediately shot up and he stared at me. Through me, at first.

"C'mon, John," I tried again. "Relax, it's just me." I scratched at my stubble-covered face. "I know I haven't cleaned up in a while but I can't be that scary."

Then his too-hot hand wrapped around mine, hard. Harder than it had a right to in his condition; the metal dug into my palm. His eyes, glazed with fever, bore into mine. Then his lips moved but only a raspy whispering came out.

I leaned closer, my breath held for his sake and mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Don't give up."

His hand squeezed even tighter, broken fingers and all, as I shook my head, not understanding. "John, I—"

"They're… coming. For us."

Before I could say another word the cavalry finally arrived. Lam and her minions coursed into the tiny cubicle and I was swept aside by the crowd of white coats and scrubs.

By the time they left and I was allowed in he'd fallen back asleep and I was left with gnawing guilt at the realization that while we got him back, we never came for them.

* * *

The fever finally broke late the next day and Lam started using _when_'s, not _if_'s when talking about Sheppard's recovery.

She may have been more optimistic about his condition, but to me, it looked like he was even worse than when we'd brought him home.

He was thin and shaky, covered in a sheen of sweat. He coughed almost non-stop, only pausing to dry heave bile and his enteric feeding into a kidney dish, and what wasn't coming out one end was coming out the other. Jennifer explained that it was all to be expected, between the infections, the antibiotics and reintroduction to food but to me, he looked like misery personified. He could barely speak, but his expression, when he was actually awake and looking at you, just said, "Shoot me. Please."

Teyla and Ronon, were, of course, maddeningly calm about the whole situation. I couldn't stand to spend more than a few minutes at a time with him but they sat at his bedside, like good friends are supposed to. Even though he barely spoke to them, they stayed, through his lungs and stomach being turned inside out, through the bedding changes and through smells and sounds I just couldn't tolerate.

I had just started to enter the cubicle, my fifth attempt of the day, when I heard that gut-twisting retching. I can't even handle _simulated_ vomiting on TV – I threw up during the blueberry pie contest scene in _Stand By Me_ and never did see how the movie ended- and this was live- with sound effects and full smell-o-vision.

My stomach threatened a rebellion of its own, my coffee and bearclaw beginning their own uprising. I wheeled about and headed back out, running-literally- into Jennifer.

"Rodney! What's wrong? Is it the colonel?"

I shook my head, swallowing hard, not even able to answer her.

"You're white as a ghost. Come sit down."

She led me over to a stool, eased me down and, of course, started taking my pulse. Sheppard was in agony, and _I _was getting fussed over. I snatched my hand away and wiped the cold sweat from my upper lip. "I'm fine. I just can't – it's… God, I'm a shitty friend."

A smile twitched at her lips. "You've always had a weak stomach, Rodney. It's completely natural to experience a physiological response to that kind of stimuli."

"Completely natural for me, you mean."

"Some people are just… better suited to handle it. Face it, Rodney. There's something that other people actually do better than you."

"Oh, please. There are a lot of things that others do better than me. Off the top of my head I'd say small talk, ice skate, sing and… word search puzzles. Those are just too lame to even bother trying." I sighed and stood up. "I feel like I'm letting him down."

"Give it a day or so, Rodney. This reaction will pass."

I wondered if my guilt ever would.

* * *

Jennifer was right, of course. The throwing up and other stuff finally eased over the next couple days. Sheppard was still a mess, and coughing like a tubercular chain smoker and all that plus the puking and the feeding tube had turned his throat to raw meat. The man was never much for talk in the first place but now he was practically mute.

Which was fine for chess, thankfully.

I breezed in, pulling the curtain shut behind me, board and box of pieces under my arm after getting the all clear from the nurses.

Sheppard, propped up on a mound of pillows, looked up at my entrance. The nose feeding tube was gone, thank God, and a can of Ensure sat on a pushed aside bedtable.

His eyebrows rose with surprise at my presence.

I pretended not to notice and busied myself with pulling the bedtable over his lap, pushing aside the half-empty can and unfolding the board. I opened the lid of the box and pulled out a white piece, a king by chance, and placed it in its proper square on his side of the board. I waited to see if my peace offering of first move would be recognized.

There was a pause as Sheppard stared at the piece then he met my eyes and nodded. Gestured with his hand for me to keep going.

With a mental sigh of relief, my apology accepted, I set the rest of the pieces up then pulled up a chair to wait for his opening move.

With a shaky hand and his braced fingers held aloft, Sheppard eased a pawn out two squares.

Two moves later, when his queen came out, I could already tell his heart really wasn't in the game. "Really, Sheppard? A Napoleon Opening? We all know how that worked out for him."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed as he looked at the piece he'd just moved. He shook his head but rolled his hand in a keep going gesture.

Five moves later, I was already out of the scholar's mate he tried to force and four white pieces were back in the box. I moved my bishop, setting up a fianchetto, and waited for him to notice.

He didn't.

As I looked up from my piece I saw his eyes not on the board but scanning around the little ten by ten cubicle.

I looked around myself, saw nothing but white fabric screens. "What?"

Sheppard's gaze flicked my way and he quickly pushed his rook four squares forward. I almost groaned. I could already envision a mate in three moves.

I ignored the opening and moved my knight to take one of his pawns instead. The small plastic piece joined its brothers in the box. And Sheppard was back to staring at his walls.

"What?" I asked again.

Sheppard gave me an uneasy look. "Open," he rasped. His eyes darted at the narrow gap in the curtains.

I shook my head. "No, it's not open; don't worry, no one can see in." Sheppard was a private man by nature and what with the whole gown and tubes thing, I figured he'd appreciate my concern for his privacy.

"Open. Please."

"You want it open? What for?"

Sheppard sighed and dropped his head back into his pillows, stared at the ceiling tiles.

I recognized a pout when I saw one. I was the master of the pout; ask my mother. I rose and pulled the curtain open a foot. "There. You now have a spectacular view of Lt Miranda. He's in for appendicitis. And to his left you'll notice Dr. Something or Other. I think he got a hernia – probably lifting a test tube. Are you happy?"

After a few minutes of watching him stare at the fascinating new doorway and the blanket-covered lumps in the other beds I cleared my throat. When that got no reaction I tapped the board. "Your move."

With barely a glance at the pieces Sheppard moved his queen along the diagonal and took one of my pawns. And left it right in the path of my bishop.

"You're not even trying," I muttered as I pulled my bishop back.

Sheppard continued his half-hearted pushing around of pieces but his eyes rarely strayed from his white walls. After basically playing keep away – it was actually more challenging to keep finding moves _not _to put him in check- for the next few moves I eventually took two more of his pieces, leaving him with his king, queen and one rook.

Sheppard seemed to finally take notice of how badly he was doing. He reached out to move his queen and accidentally hit my king with the tip of a finger brace, knocking it over.

"Ah, if only it were that easy," I smiled.

Sheppard mouthed a 'sorry' and reached out to prop the piece back up, knocking over my bishop in the process.

"Is that any way to treat a man of the cloth, Sheppard?"

It was a lame joke, I know. But the response it got was wholly unexpected.

Sheppard swatted his hand at the pieces and knocked them all over.

"What the hell, Sheppard?" I fumed as I fumbled to catch a knight hurdling off the bedtable onto the floor. To be fair, there weren't many pieces left on the board and he did kinda swat them _toward_ the box but still.

As the last piece dropped into the box I looked up, ready to berate him for his childishness… Sheppard was staring at his hands on the bed. At his broken fingers, held in place with little more than aluminum and some padding.

He still hadn't said much about what had happened on the planet. I knew he'd nodded and shook his head through some basic questions; softballs that Lorne threw him for the sake of Landry and the necessary reports. His injuries spoke enough for what he had endured.

Torture. Brutal, sadistic, stupid torture. And for what? From what we'd gathered from the communiqués with Gold Robe and his toadies, the VIP that had been taken was the only real goal. Sheppard and the other two were collateral damage, taken to sweeten the pot but hardly necessary.

Sheppard continued to stare at his fingers, twiddling them slowly, haltingly, with a grimace on his face the whole time.

With a sigh I rattled the box a little to draw his attention. "I guess it must be hard, your fingers like that. You look a little like Edward Scissorhands. Huh. Sheppard Bracefingers."

I was already kicking myself for the joke – once again letting my thoughts take the express train from brain to mouth - but Sheppard gave me a lopsided grin.

"You actually look a lot like Johnny Depp did. Especially the hair."

The grin tightened and his eyes narrowed. "Don't push it, McKay." Even though his voice was a raspy ghost of what it normally was, it sounded (thankfully) familiar.

"So. I guess we're all done playing chess. Let's call it a draw, shall we?"

Sheppard nodded, then whispered, "Sorry." He swept his hand in a pantomime of his board clearing.

"Oh, please," I said, waving off his apology. "I've thrown worse tantrums when we're out of coffee."

"Yeah, you have." He eased slowly back in the mound of pillows propping him up, and resumed staring at the opening in the curtain.

"What is so fascinating?" I looked out and saw a nurse fiddling with Lt Miranda's IV. "She's what? Like sixty? Never took you for the Mrs. Robinson thing, although she is kinda hot," I added conspiratorially.

But Sheppard was looking past her. At the next open doorway out into the front triage area.

Before I could make a comment, Nurse Robinson started walking our way. She bustled in with a smile for Sheppard and a glare at me – I think she was the one who gave me my last set of inoculations and I may have whined. A little.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

Sheppard gave her a noncommittal shrug with his good shoulder.

"Considering he's 90% plaster, gauze and stitches, that seems a pretty silly question to ask," I muttered.

Sheppard shot me a glare of his own but quickly pasted on a smile for the nurse.

She'd clearly been around the block – or worked with Sheppard in the past, because she wasn't buying it.

She picked up the trigger to his morphine pump and pushed the button with an exasperated sigh. "It's called a PCA because it's supposed to be patient controlled anesthesia, Colonel."

"I am controlling it," Sheppard rasped.

"By choosing not to use it." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Sheppard gave me this look – a grateful look? But before I could figure it out his eyes shut down and his body relaxed. Melted, actually, into the bed. It wasn't until seeing him so comfortable that I realized how hard he'd been working at looking relaxed. The most powerful narcotic known to man at his brace-covered fingertips, and he chose to struggle against using it. To assert control again, over even this small thing, in a situation where he had to cede control over even the most basic of life functions to others. Colonel Control Freak had found a way.

While the nurse changed out his IV his breathing evened out, and he began to lightly snore, even as she was taking his blood pressure. She adjusted the tubes in and at his nose then pulled the blanket up with a motherly touch.

I left with Nurse Robinson. But after she shut the curtain, I pushed it open a few inches.

* * *

Getting him up on his feet was the next hurdle in Sheppard's path to recovery. Between his patchwork of incisions, the broken toes and ankle and the barely knitted hole in his shoulder, just figuring out how to manage it took a committee of doctors and physical therapists.

Ronon was a big part of the plan, both for his size and strength and for his ability to let shit roll off of him. Not the real- well, of course, at least not anymore, but Sheppard had a foul mouth and an even fouler disposition when he was being fussed over. Having a _team_ of people working on him was going to really piss him off.

And yet, somehow I got worked into the plan. I remember barely listening to them talking; my name had been mentioned and I'd piped up with a distinctly interrogative 'yes?' Next I knew I was part of the group assembling at Sheppard's bedside.

By the time I filed into the small cubicle Sheppard was already fuming. Still painfully thin, covered in wires and tubes and his skin the same washed out white of his hospital gown, he still managed to look… well, formidable was being generous. I flashed to a cat I'd had. He was really old, blind in one eye and riddled with cancer. But when it came time for me to take him on his final trip to the vet, he holed up in a closet. Ears back, he keened this low growl at me. Eight pounds of grizzled grey fluff and he made me step back.

I wondered if a catnip treat would help with Sheppard. He was glaring at our little group and I think his ears would've gone back if they could.

"What's going on?" he managed in his own low growl.

Dr Lam worked her way forward and began transferring his oxygen over to a portable tank. "Time to get you on your feet, Colonel." She pushed some buttons on his PCA, measuring out what I assumed was a small dose of painkiller before depressing the trigger. My assumptions were proved right as some of the tension eased out of Sheppard's frame and out of his expression. Morphine was a truly wonderful invention – way better than catnip.

Sheppard just sat there, looking at the gathered group as Nurse Robinson (I really needed to learn her name) came around the bed and started gathering up some of his other tubal accessories and disconnecting his IV port.

By the time they had him packed up and ready to go, whatever edges the morphine had smoothed down were ruffled and to continue the image, I swear if he'd had hackles they'd have been raised.

Ronon stepped forward and knocked his knuckles lightly on Sheppard's good shoulder. "C'mon, Sheppard. We've done this dance before. Just a few more partners is all."

Then without waiting for any reply from Sheppard he pulled the sheets and blanket down. God, the man's legs were white. And thin. Like scrawny boiled chicken legs. Yellowing bruises were painted in wide swaths, the worst of them disappearing under the cast on his ankle. His toes were purple and swollen. How the hell did they expect the man to stand?

Another nurse stepped up, crew cut and USMC tattoo on his forearm. He took Sheppard's legs and pulled them off to the side while Ronon eased up under Sheppard's good shoulder. Robinson stood to the side, attaching his paraphernalia to a metal stand on wheels.

Ronon took the oxygen tank and threw the strap over his shoulder. Then he did that thing where the two of them shared a look – only two men as non-verbal as them could communicate like that.

Sheppard worked his few unbroken fingers into Ronon's shirt and nodded.

At an unvoiced three count Ronon and the Marine lifted him up vertical. They waited while Sheppard moaned and shuddered, held him when his legs buckled, and kept holding him in place while he bowed his head and sucked in the oxygen at his nose.

Lam stood in front of him, ducked her head down until she was looking at his face. "How are you feeling, Colonel?" she asked loudly.

He took in a few more deep drags off his oxygen then lifted his head. "Peachy."

Lam nodded. "Peachy being a medical term for 'sucks big time'?"

Sheppard just stared at her with narrowed eyes then nodded back. "Where now?"

"Let's try a few steps and see how far we get." Then she stepped back a few feet.

Ronon had his good shoulder and the Marine nurse had an arm wrapped around Sheppard's waist. Considering the man's torso was a mess of broken bones and fresh incisions, I wondered how the Marine had managed to map out a place for his arm.

But between them they had a good hold. Sheppard straightened up as best he could, wobbling on the plaster cast, and let them walk him forward a foot.

I leaned over to Robinson, who was trailing behind with the rolly stand. "What am I doing here?"

"You're supposed to be here for moral support, Dr McKay," she stage whispered back at me with a glare.

Oh, great. I was there to play cheerleader. I worked a smile onto my face. "You're doing great, Sheppard!" I announced brightly.

Sheppard just groaned as they moved forward another step.

Then I saw where I could be of actual help. I stepped up behind him and gathered up the open flaps of his gown. "I got your back, Sheppard," I said in his ear. "Literally. Don't worry. I wont leave you hanging. Out."

"Stay… on… my… six… McKay" he gasped out but I heard a chuckle in there.

The group of us made an odd shuffling, lurching parade as we moved through the open screen into the infirmary. We made it past the now empty beds that Miranda and hernia guy had been in before Sheppard shook his head. "Done… I'm done…"

"You sure, Sheppard?" Ronon asked.

"Is he sure – are you kidding me?" I blurted out. "Look at him!"

Sheppard was trembling, head to poor broken toes. I've broken _one _toe and it hurt like a bitch. Nothing to do for a broken toe except wrap it to the one next to it. Except his were _all _mangled.

I thought for sure that Sheppard would rise to Ronon's bait and change his mind. He scanned the infirmary, grey wall to grey wall. Nothing but beds and equipment. Then his eyes stared at the door into the next section for a long pause before dropping his head. His whole body followed as his knees finally buckled for good.

Ronon didn't even blink. He caught Sheppard as he began to sag, hooked an arm under Sheppard's legs and scooped him up. Our shuffling parade broke into a rush to get him back into bed where Lam and her people swarmed over him, checking his vitals and re-tethering him to his bed. When she seemed satisfied with the readings, Lam recalibrated his PCA and shot him up with joy juice. Sheppard's eyes never even reopened before he was out for the count.

Ronon waited around to make sure Sheppard was okay and back on his cloud before turning and leaving the cubicle.

I followed, bristling with fury. I let him get out of earshot before grabbing his arm.

He wheeled on me, anger darkening his own features. "What, McKay?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? His first day outa bed and you want him back out running laps with you?"

"This is Sheppard we're talking about, McKay. He's a fighter. He needs a challenge!"

"It's still a _challenge_ for him to sit up in bed, Ronon! He was a mess and you were goading him to keep going!"

"He just needs to get moving. Laying in bed just feeds on itself."

I gaped at him, wondered if we were even seeing the same thing when we looked at Sheppard.

"He's not lazing about in bed, Ronon. In case you hadn't noticed, they MacGyvered his pieces back together with chewing gum and paperclips."

The big guy raised an eyebrow. I sighed. It can be so frustrating dealing with aliens. "They barely managed to put him back together, Ronon. He's not going to get over this by sucking it up, brushing it off and hitting the gym. Like you two usually do."

His balled his fists at his sides and I fought not to flinch as his scowl deepened. But he just growled, turned on his heel and left without another word.

I had my own guilt issues. They kept me company now at night, along with the Wraith and whales that had made an unhappy reappearance in my dreams. He and Teyla had been forced to come back for reinforcements – and Sheppard had been taken while they were gone. I wondered what images kept a man like Ronon company at night.

* * *

Our little troupe kept up something of a routine over the next week, with matinee and evening performances. Teyla began joining us so I procured a robe to drape over Sheppard's shoulders. The first time I saw him, shuffling along, held up on each side, the ugly robe clutched over him, I burst out laughing. He looked like James Brown. I, of course had to tell him so, too. No longer tasked with covering his ass- literally- I threw myself into the role of cheerleader. A role, I might add, that no one has ever been more poorly suited for. My form of cheering was more like poking an angry bear. I needled and barbed, snarked and generally acted like an ass. But it kept Sheppard's back up and I swear he worked harder. Probably just to get the walk over with and be done of me.

It's weird, I know, considering the circumstances. But it felt good, the four of us working as a team again. Sheppard grouched, Teyla soothed and Ronon grunted and it all felt… right.

Each day we got a little closer to the door. At the end of the week we finally crossed the threshold. I was grinning triumphantly. A goal met, a team win! Ready for high fives all around, I looked expectantly at Sheppard. Who looked decidedly un-triumphant. He gazed for a long time at the triage center that fronted the main infirmary. We'd all spent plenty of time there, sitting for scans and blood draws whenever we came back to Earth. The SGC didn't take kindly to alien supersnakes hitching rides in host bodies. So I had no idea why Sheppard seemed so… disappointed. I saw the same gurneys, the same medical personnel bustling about. And there, another twenty-five feet away, another door. Which would lead to a hallway with dozens of other doors. And elevators that would lead to a dozen more hallways, each with dozens more doors…

I deflated myself a little. Our great accomplishment was staring to look really lame.

Then I heard Sheppard whisper, almost to himself. "Aren't there any windows in this place?"

"Little hard to put a window in when you're buried hundreds of meters underground," I quipped. My tone was sharpened by dismay over my own disappointment.

Sheppard flinched. I almost missed it, and was about to convince myself it was just a normal reaction to the pain that still nagged at most parts of his body. But then I saw Teyla's face. She looked at me sadly and shook her head. Apparently, I'd once again managed to insert my foot in my mouth without benefit of a single yoga class.

After that, it kind of all fell apart. Sheppard was once again hustled back into bed, doped to the gills and we were sent packing.

The next day when we showed up, Lam said the Colonel had had a bit of a setback. Nothing to worry about but there'd be no walking today, and no, he wasn't feeling up to visitors.

After a few days of being turned away from visiting Sheppard I resolved to find out what the hell was going on. That night over dinner with Jen, I tried to tear a little hole in the veil of medical privacy-based secrecy. Always more of a researcher at heart, Jen had settled back into lab work pretty well once we returned to Earth. But I knew she also missed medicine, though God knows why, and she kept her skills sharp by pulling rotations in the infirmary.

I tried a subtle approach. I listened to her babble about some new gene therapy, waited patiently until she presented an opening. By taking a bite of her chicken sandwich. "Soooo… what the hell's going on with Sheppard?

Jen almost choked. After she cleared her trachea of breaded chicken by-product she stared at me over her napkin. "Rodney, you know I can't discuss Colonel Sheppard's situation with you, even if we are…dating."

I ignored the pause and held up an a-ha finger. "A-ha! So there _is _a situation."

She shook her head. "No... I didn't say-"

"Yes, you did. By saying you couldn't talk about it, _it_, by definition, must exist."

"Rodney-"

"Jen, this is Sheppard we're talking about. If we were back on Atlantis you'd have called a meeting and Woolsey and Lorne and all of us would be there. And you'd give the excuse that it mattered because he was military leader but you'd know it was more because we were …"

"Family?" she filled in for me.

"Well, yes. In a manner of speaking. I suppose. Whatever lets you ignore red tape, rules, and that stupid hippo law."

She knew I'd done it deliberately but corrected me anyway. "HIPAA. And we aren't on Atlantis anymore. The SGC is all about the red tape and rules and … hippos."

"Screw the SGC!"

Jen raised a very Sheppard-like eyebrow and smiled. "Wow...Rodney the Rebel. I don't think I've ever seen you like this. I like it."

I tried to ignore the blush I felt rising in my cheeks. Damn my fair complexion. "I'm serious, Jen. We're stuck here, on Earth, and the Powers That Be seem to have forgotten us. Damn it, we had Atlantis! The crown jewel of _two _galaxies, and now she's sitting someplace, mothballed, while we fritter away our days, waiting for someone to remember we're still here. That we mattered once."

"Oh, Rodney." Jen covered my hand with hers. "We still matter. You still matter. To me, and the SGC." She leaned in and whispered, "I have it on good authority that Landry wasn't going to call your bluff. They were all freaked at the idea you might quit."

My blush deepened. "Oh, you heard about that? Well… I wasn't bluffing. Jen, nothing feels right anymore. It's all changed. At least you guys could still be counted on for some familiarity. Now Teyla's sad all the time, Ronon's even less of a joy to be around… and Sheppard. What the hell is going on with him? Is it his kidney? Is he going to lose it after all? Or something worse? Oh, God, what could be worse than losing an organ?"

Jen squeezed my hand. Hard. "Rodney," she said sharply, "it's not his kidney, and it's not something worse. At least physically. Think about it. Use that giant brain of yours and try on some empathy. If you're feeling displaced, think how the colonel must feel, after all he's been through. How the change has affected _him."_

Empathy. Ha. From a man whose mother once left journals open around the house, turned to articles about Asperger's back when barely anyone had heard of it.

But if the empathy part of my brain was sometimes someplace off playing prime, not prime with my brain-to-mouth filter, I did have a keen sense of deduction.

It didn't help to have Jen staring intently at me, waiting. But I took a few of those centering breaths that Teyla always told me to use and did what I do best. Take in data, process it, look for patterns, and draw a conclusion.

By the time I was done I didn't like my result.

From the moment we'd found out they'd been taken, I'd begun the usual scans, looking for Potter, the Marine, and Sheppard's sub-q transmitters. Bennett hadn't gotten one; it was his first off-world mission. Usually he just analyzed the rocks brought back by other teams. But the ore on this planet had piqued the rock doc's interest enough that he'd ventured out. Curiosity, meet cat. But the scans never picked up the signals. Analysis of the ore sample from Bennett's lab had shown it to have a density five times that of lead.

I'd operated under the assumption that the rebels had somehow shielded Sheppard and the rest with the use of this ore. But with such a high density, and the limitations of their technology, I couldn't figure out how they managed to construct anything with it.

Now I realized, they hadn't had to. It was found, naturally, in veins in the planet's crust and in even larger deposits in the three mountain ranges. The ore was too dense to dig through, even with the crude demolitions available. But the surrounding rock and soil could be dug through. In fact, erosion would likely have worn away natural tunnels and canyons. All the rebels would've had to do was get the men underground and the ore could've been prevalent enough to block transmissions.

We'd tried continuous scans for the whole month they were gone. Then suddenly Sheppard's sub-q transmission just pops back on, just as Gold Robe and his flunkies contact us. The transmitter worked. But it had been blocked. For a month. And the only way to block it would've been to…

"He was underground, for a month, wasn't he?" I whispered.

"And where is he now, Rodney?" Jen prodded.

He'd been liberated from one underground prison, just to be sealed up in another.

* * *

Once the initial horror – at both the nature of Sheppard's imprisonment and how stupidly slow I had been to realize it- had passed I felt oddly energized. I'd processed my data, reached my conclusion, and now was time to put my findings to work. For the month he'd been imprisoned we'd gone back to the planet every day. Teams encamped in different quadrants each day but I stayed at our base, spending every waking minute on the scans, fixated with the ridiculous notion that science would prevail, that my giant brain would again solve the problem and save the day. Ultimately, the planet's government had eventually arranged an exchange- their political prisoners for the hostages. Science had been beaten by politics. I'd been useless.

After Sheppard returned I remained marginalized. Hovering outside his cubicle during the worst of his sickness, then relegated to rear guard and court jester while others did the heavy lifting as he began his recovery. Jen didn't have to tell me explicitly what was going on now. Sheppard could already be a moody SOB during normal recoveries. This was about the worst I'd ever seen him, and that was without the specters of torture and entombment haunting him.

Sheppard was a wake up and run three miles before the sun was up kind of guy. If he wasn't on an off world mission he'd be hitting golf balls or fishing off the pier, laying in the sun on his balcony, soaking up rays in ugly board shorts, or stargazing on mild nights. He had a year round tan and boundless energy. And he was staring down weeks more of recovery time before he'd even have a shot at seeing the milky grey winter light of Colorado in January.

There was only one thing to be done, and more importantly, one man who could do it. Me. It surprisingly took just a few days of round the clock work, several phone calls, and three meetings with Lam, Jennifer and Landry, and the SGC's resident psychologist, a nice enough lady as far as headshrinkers go, I guess.

Once everything was in place I had a final sit down with Teyla and Ronon. Let's face it. Sheppard played his cards close to his tac vest and getting him to talk about anything beyond football, planes and mission plans was almost impossible. But when he did open up, it was generally with one of us. It had to be us.

I'd been wrestling with whether to include Sheppard in my machinations. Acutely aware of his control issues, amplified times ten with his current situation, I'd initially considered discussing it with him. But I was petrified that he'd shoot the whole thing down. After talking it out, the three of us agreed that it was in the guy's best interest to leave him in the dark… for just a little longer.

Once the final decision was in place, everything ran like clockwork from there. Everyone played their role, and the plan went off without a hitch.

Ronon, Teyla and our special guest were seated at the table, steaming mugs of hot cocoa and a picked over tray of bakery cookies in front of us. No one was talking much, just blowing cooling breaths over the cocoa and listening.

An hour after our arrival, we finally heard the first stirrings from the bedroom.

We got up as one and headed for the doorway. I knocked lightly, then opened the door.

Sheppard was a little freaked, I think. I started regretting springing this as a surprise on him, realizing only now that maybe recent kidnap victim might not appreciate waking up in a strange place.

I stepped in, alone. The rest of the group hovered outside. It was my idea so if there was any backlash, it was only fair I take it.

The room was dimly lit and he peered intently at me.

Hey, Sheppard. It's Rodney, I said with a weak smile and a little hand wave.

Sheppard managed to dig an elbow into the mattress and push himself up more against the backboard. "Rodney? Where the hell am I?"

"My house."

"Your house? You have an apartment… a… a crummy apartment."

"My apartment is not crummy. It suits my needs just fine. But just to reiterate, this is my house. At least for the next few months."

He rubbed a thumb and finger over his eyes and shook his head. "I don't… what are you talking about? Since when do you have a house?"

"Since about three days ago."

"You bought a house… three days ago."

"Yup."

"How?"

"Well, there's this new-fangled thing called the internet. All the cool kids are using it."

"You bought a house… on the internet."

"Yes," I sighed. "I hope it's just the morphine because you aren't usually so slow on the uptake."

Sheppard's eyes moved to his arm, followed the tubing still in his hand to the pole at the side of his bed and up to the bag hung there. Then he shifted his legs a little and grimaced.

"Yeah, I tried to get you off the leashes but the docs insisted you needed them. Sorry."

"Docs?"

"Oh, for pete's sake… it isn't a conversation if you just keep repeating my words back at me." I walked up to the side of the bed and sat down.

"I know you're probably confused and maybe a little pissed off that I'm making you confused and that's cool. I get it. Hear me out, and then, if you're still pissed, well just know that it was all my idea and keep your crosshairs on me and only me."

"McKay…" The growl was back.

"No one told us anything," I blurted out. "But genius, remember? I figured some things out for myself, and then I had my theories supported by input from others, and we all agreed that we needed to get you out of the Mountain."

My eyes had adjusted to the dim and I could see his face better. It was still way too pale, even compared to my own fluorescent lights tan, and the pillowcase had left lines in his cheek and mushed his hair off to one side. But his eyes were clear. And they brightened as he cast a slow gaze around the room. One wall was covered in heavy drapes, but light peeked in at the corners and the narrow gap between them.

I got up and pulled a curtain aside, slowly. Winter light timidly poked its head into the room. It was weak and grey as skim milk, barely put a dent in the gloom, but Sheppard squinted and blinked like a mole in full sunshine.

He stared for a full minute at the window. His eyes watered a little but I put that down to a photophobic reaction because I couldn't handle the thought that a simple window could make a man like Sheppard cry.

I turned my head as he finally looked away and swiped a hand across his lids. "H—" his voice was tentative and a little wet. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How?" was all he asked.

"Well… let's see. How did we arrange this?" At his raised brows I nodded and waved a hand at the doorway I knew hid the hovering group. "Yes, there's a we. Teyla and Ronon, of course, and, well… they wouldn't let us spring you without medical personnel so…"

"Carson?"

"Aye, John," Carson answered with a grin as he followed the other two into the room. "I seem to find myself with a bit of time on my hands. They may've taken away my privileges at the SGC but they can't take my medical degree. How are you feeling, lad? The trip up here was treacherous and the ride got pretty bumpy."

"Ride?" Sheppard asked.

"Carson, he's only answering in echoes. How much morphine did you give him?"

"Settle, Rodney. The man's just woken up in a strange room after being spirited away in the night. A little confusion is expected, and yes, a little opiate haze is expected as well." He bustled up to the side of the bed and shook hands with a still stunned Sheppard.

"Where are we?" Sheppard finally asked. "And don't say 'my house' again, McKay."

"We're still in Colorado. Another 'condition'," I air quoted. "Apparently they don't completely trust me with your safety and well-being. Ironic since you're the one always putting me in jeopardy."

"Where, in Colorado?" Sheppard ground out, his patience thinning before my eyes.

"McKay's house," Ronon answered. At the glare Sheppard shot him Ronon scowled. "What? It's true."

Teyla, ever the diplomat, glided up to the other side of the bed and placed her hand on Sheppard's. "It is true, John. Rodney … I believe the term is 'rented' this house for a time sufficient for your recovery. It is not far from Cheyenne Mountain. We traveled by ambulance, and as Carson said, it was very rough going in places. This area is quite … Rodney, what did you call it?"

"Rustic. The advert said rustic. We're on a mountain top, Sheppard. About thirty kilometers, as the jumper flies, from the SGC, but it's more like three hours on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride to drive it." I swooped my hand up and down. "Thought for sure we'd go over the edge at one point."

"Och, Rodney! No need for him to hear that!"

"Carson, the man has crashed wraith darts – and worse."

"Rodney, Dr. Biro has a better bedside manner than yours and she's a bloody pathologist."

"That's why you're here, Carson."

"Ay, I am. Now out, the lot of you. Let me give him a once over and see to those leashes as you call them. Now that you're awake, Colonel, let's see if we can't get you up for a bit."

Carson hied the three of us out and shut the door firmly behind us. Ronon gathered wood and built the fire up to the point I had to remind him I'd only leased the place and it would probably be better he didn't burn it down, with us in it.

Teyla puttered about in the kitchen, examining all the gleaming appliances scattered about. I set to my now cooler hot chocolate and worked at the cookie platter with a renewed appetite. So far, things had been going pretty well, and congratulatory calories were deserved.

The door finally opened almost an hour later. Carson emerged, Sheppard at his side. Carson carried an oxygen tank but Sheppard was dressed, flannel PJ pants and tee shirt, slipper on his uncasted foot and a thick terrycloth robe. The IV port had been secured to his hand with tape, but, as promised, he was otherwise free of his other usual accessories.

The two walked slowly into the great room, Sheppard's eyes scanning from wall to wall. They lingered for a while on the roaring inferno in the massive brick fireplace that ran along the outer wall. Ronon stood there, one massive hand wrapped around a log, holding it like it weighed nothing.

Sheppard's gaze narrowed and his head cocked. "Ronon?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you wearing… a sweater?"

Ronon looked down at the ivory, roll-necked Irish knit fisherman's sweater he wore, then shrugged. "Yeah? Amelia bought it for me. Why?"

"You look like an LL Bean model."

"Is that bad?"

Sheppard just shook his head. "It works on you, buddy. Just a little…" He turned at the sound of Teyla's approach and his eyes widened. Teyla wore a really soft looking, probably cashmere, cowl-necked sweater in a deep teal color. I had to admit, the color really set off the copper in her skin and hair.

Teyla smoothed a hand over her sweater and jeans, glancing down at herself under Sheppard's continued scrutiny. "We thought it best to wear these clothes to blend in. Is this acceptable?"

Sheppard stuttered out a nod while I looked at my clothes and Carson's. We were wearing almost matching flannel shirts and jeans and looked positively shlubby, I realized, next to the others.

I cleared my throat, loudly, then smiled broadly. "Good to see you in clothes, yourself, Sheppard. I'll help you burn the johnnie later if you want."

"I want," Sheppard grunted back. Carson at his arm, he took a few more halting steps into the room and did another 180 recon of the cabin. It was decidedly not a cabin, actually, although the online listing had called it that. Maybe a cabin for Bill Gates. A broad wooden staircase led to the second floor where there were four more bedrooms and two baths. The kitchen was small but ridiculously well-stocked for what was supposed to be 'roughing it,' and the table we sat at had chairs for eight. The living area was massive, two couches, a love seat and two overstuffed chairs all formed a broad semi-circle facing the fireplace. All in all, the pictures hadn't done it justice.

"This place is… how in hell did you afford this place, McKay?" I could see that Carson wanted to know the answer too.

I felt my face go a little warm, and not just from the oversized bonfire. "I'm rich."

"No, you're not," Carson scoffed. "You told me how much you make, Rodney."

"Yes, I am, and when did I ever tell you how much I make?"

"I believe you were whining about how getting shot in the arse wasn't worth the paltry sum the SGC pays you."

Oh. "Well, it's true. I don't make a lot. My talents are seriously undervalued. But I am rich. I sold a bunch of patents after my first PhD. As luck would have it, the US government bought most of them. It's how I got tapped for the SG program in the first place."

"Why would _you_ trade the opportunity to make gobs of money to work for peanuts?" Carson prodded.

I shrugged. "Better toys. All the money in the world wouldn't get me access to the stuff the SG program had."

"And we are very glad you made that decision, Rodney," Teyla said, smiling, as she stepped to my side. "This place _is_ beautiful. But John has not seen the best part."

"Yeah, Sheppard. Even I was impressed," Ronon piped in. He heaved the log onto the fire and I tried not to flinch at the spray of embers. Then he dusted his hands off on his jeans and snatched up two of the coats that hung on pegs to dry near the fire.

"I'm afraid I must insist on this, lad," Carson said as he unwound a spool of tubing from the oxygen tank. "The air up here is too thin for your healing lungs, plus it'll be warmer."

Sheppard bowed his head to accept the cannula without a word. Then he allowed Ronon to ease his arms into a coat while Carson dressed in the other. And still, not a peep. Teyla and I hastily donned our own coats, then I tossed a pair of oversized mittens to Ronon. They fit perfectly over Sheppard's still braced fingers.

And all the while he was being bundled up like a school kid he never said a word. But he practically vibrated. His eyes were wide and he dragged deeply at the oxygen now under his nose.

Carson back at one side, Ronon flanking the other, Teyla and I walked to the large wooden door at the front of the cabin. I shoved it open like a doorman at a fancy apartment building. Icy air curled into the room, setting the fire off into frenzied sparking and letting in a fine mist of blown snow.

The man of the hour went first.

A broad wooden canopy covered the balcony so the snow was only a few centimeters deep. Sheppard shuffled forward, his slipper and cast leaving oddly amoebic prints in the snow.

The view really was the best part. A camera would never do it justice, no matter how panoramic the film. The sky was a dazzling light blue, the clouds postcard fluffy and bright where the sun lit them. As far as the eye could see was untouched mountainous wilderness. Conifers covered in movie perfect dollops of white frosting. Gleaming mountaintops, snow-crested and sharp against the bright blue. It was fricking brilliant. Like the world's best desktop image come to life.

As we joined him at the balcony rail, I noticed that everyone kept their eyes on the view. The air was crystalline; our breaths came out as silver plumes. Then, as if on cue, a bird –maybe an eagle or a hawk – soared in and landed in a nearby pine tree. Whatever it was, it was heavy. A load of snow dropped off the disturbed branches with a whomp before silence once again settled in.

"Forty-seven days."

I looked up at Sheppard's voice. I couldn't see his face for the fur trim around the hood pulled up over his head.

He put a mittened hand on the wood rail and pushed at the snow there.

"It's been forty-seven days since I breathed fresh air… felt sun on my face."

No one said a word. Sheppard hadn't opened up to anyone about his ordeal; we were all frozen in place, like he was a deer we didn't want to scare off.

He took a deep pull of his oxygen and let out a long silvery exhale. "Couldn't tell day or night, where we were. But I kept track of the days by the guard shifts. Meals didn't come regular but the guards did."

My cheeks were frozen but I felt heat rise in them. We all knew what happened when the guards came.

Sheppard wiped another swath through the snow on the railing. "Guards just turned into nurses after I got back. I think I might've lost a day or two in there, but I remember forty-seven days."

His mitten scraped on the wood then pounded lightly. "Sounds pretty lame, huh? I mean, it's just air and light."

No one answered him.

"But after a while, it got so that's all we'd talk about. Bennett was a scrapper. He reminded me a little of you, McKay. He started out whining but when things got tough he really cowboyed up. Potter was young. Cocky. Had a smart mouth and nerves of steel."

I coughed Sheppard's name into my glove and I saw him nod. "Yeah, alright. I was thinking Ford but I guess it fits a little." He swiped again at the now bare wood. "Every time he mouthed off, they'd just dole it right back. Fists, rocks. He didn't back down until they broke his jaw."

I heard a muttered, "Bloody hell," and the creak of leather as Ronon's gloved hand balled at his side.

"It was our nineteenth day when I noticed the guards were getting sick. Runny noses, sneezing, hacking. Bennett got it the next day. He made it four days more but they weren't fun days. And after… there were these…"

He paused and stared out at the mountains. "There were rats – or close enough to them. Potter and I took turns…with Bennett. Then Potter got sick and it was just me. I tried…" He cleared his throat and sucked in a noseful of oxygen.

"The guards were getting pretty thin towards the end. There was a lot of infighting, squabbling. The meals stopped altogether and I was left alone. It was the perfect time to finally arrange an escape. And then the fever got around to me.

Potter died the morning of the exchange. I knew it was coming; the remaining guards were buzzing about finally heading home. I tried to keep Potter going but…" He laughed morosely. "Woulda been good to have you there, Carson."

"I wish I'd been there too, son," Carson said, a consoling hand on Sheppard's arm. "I spoke with Dr Lam and Jennifer. You have to know, there was nothing you could have done to save either of them. They were barely able to beat back your infection with every antibiotic in our arsenal."

"Still," Sheppard continued. "Doesn't seem right, they died without… " He waved a hand out and sighed. "I told them I would get us out."

"It's my fault," I groaned. "Maybe if I'd realized sooner that they'd taken you guys underground, I could've narrowed our search parameters."

"We were the ones who left you there," Teyla said quietly.

"I should've been able to sense ambush," Ronon added bitterly. "Being out of Pegasus… I just got sloppy. It's my fault."

"Och! You daft buggers, the lot of you!" Carson fumed. "You'd think by now that you'd all know you can't control what happens, all the time. I don't care how smart or brave you are. The important thing is that you survive what you can and come back home at the end of the day. Or the month."

"Spoken like a true resurrected man, Carson."

"Shut it, Rodney," he told me, but he was grinning. "Now then, it's colder than an Orkney man's bollocks out here. Colonel Sheppard needs to get inside and warm up. And I think we could all do with something to eat."

"You guys go in," Sheppard said, turning for the first time to face us. "I'm good, Carson. Just want a few minutes more." The breeze ruffled his hair as he tilted his face to the sun.

Carson only paused to consider for a moment. "Aye, a little vitamin D might be just what the doctor ordered. But not too long."

The rest of us bustled in, stamping cold feet and blowing on stiff fingers as we peeled off our coats and scarves.

Teyla hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "I must admit, I am looking forward to eating something warm."

"I know just the thing," I announced as I headed for the kitchen. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup."

Ronon narrowed his eyes at me. "You grill cheese? Doesn't it just melt and fall through?"

Sometimes, I really love working with aliens.


End file.
